


Wants

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes





	Wants

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[50kinkyways](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/50kinkyways), [angel/lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/angel%2Flindsey), [angst_bingo](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/angst_bingo), [wants](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wants)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Wants (1/1)**_  
 **Title:**  Wants   
 **Chapter** : 1/1   
 **Pairing:**  Angel/Lindsey  
 **Rating:**  NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:**  I'm not Joss  
 **Warning:** non-con **  
Summary** :  There are a lot of things Lindsey wants. Set during AtS S2, right after _Epiphany_.  
 **A/N:**  Uses the [](http://community.livejournal.com/angst_bingo/profile)[**angst_bingo**](http://community.livejournal.com/angst_bingo/)  prompt hatred and the [](http://community.livejournal.com/50kinkyways/profile)[**50kinkyways**](http://community.livejournal.com/50kinkyways/)  prompt non-con. Many thanks to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for her beta work!

 **  
WANTS  
**

 

“There’s a lot of things I’ve wanted.”

Angel dragged his eyelids open and tried to clear the fog from his head.

“I wanted money, power, respect. Wanted to be able to walk into fancy clubs—just have the bouncer wave me right on in. Wanted to be able to rub my success in my son-of-a-bitch father’s face, the faces of all those bastards who thought I was just trash.”

Sluggishly, Angel’s eyes managed to focus. He was in a big, empty room—a warehouse maybe—with a light glaring overhead and cold dampness seeping into his bones.

“I wanted pretty girls to fall all over me and beautiful women to crave me. I wanted to _be_ someone, Angel.”

Lindsey McDonald was seated in front of him. The lawyer was straddling a beat-up wooden chair turned backwards. He wore a pair of old jeans, a battered gray t-shirt, and tennis shoes. He was sporting a day or two worth of stubble and his hair hung in his face. He had a bottle in his hand—cheap whiskey, Angel could smell it—and in between sentences he was swigging from it. When he saw that Angel was looking at him he grinned. “Like I said, I want a lot of things. Even got some of them. But I can’t remember wanting anything as bad as I want to kill you.”

Angel roared and attempted to lunge forward. But his hands were bound, locked into chains that hung from the ceiling so that his arms were stretched over his head, and his ankles were spread wide and affixed tightly to the floor. He was gagged, too, a large metal ball jammed into his mouth and buckled in place. Even though he used all his strength, the chains didn’t budge.

Lindsey didn’t even flinch. “Demon-proofed, of course, dude. One of the perks of my job.”

Angel shook his head angrily. His thoughts were still fuzzy and muddled, but he vaguely remembered…an informant had told Wes something about some demon activity going on in Hollywood. Still trying to get back into everyone’s good graces, Angel had volunteered to check things out so the others could celebrate Cordelia’s birthday in peace. Finding demons in Hollywood wasn’t such an easy task—the place was so weird even without them—but Angel had finally spied a small pack of Tefedrins. Big, hulking things with bat ears and gray fur. They usually ate stray pets and were solitary hunters, so a group of them was unusual and troubling. He’d followed them into a weedy space between a motel and an apartment building, and then…that’s all he could recall.

Lindsey was watching him, a look of smug amusement playing about his lips, clearly aware of what was going on in Angel’s mind. “Those Tefedrins owe the firm a bundle ‘cause of some shit we cleared up for them a few months back. I told them they could work some of their debt off if they helped me out. You stepped right into the trap, man. I was waiting in a motel room with a dart gun. You dropped cold. Good thing I was able to talk those demons into helping me drag your bulky ass here.” He chuckled and took another drink. His drawl was much more noticeable than usual, Angel thought.

“So, like I was sayin’, I really, _really_ wanna kill you. Want it so bad I can just about taste your ashes on my tongue.” He shrugged. “But my bosses ain’t ready for that yet. They seem to think you might be of some use to them, the deluded fuckers. And I can’t afford to piss them off right now.”

He drank again, emptying the bottle, and then threw it aside. It exploded loudly, glass slivers flying everywhere. Lindsey stood. He was swaying on his feet a little and his eyes were slightly bleary.

“So I can’t kill you. Not yet. But that don’t mean I can’t…play with you a little.”

He smiled in a way that Angelus himself would have been proud of, and Angel felt his guts twist in fear. The lawyer wasn’t just drunk—by the look in his eyes, he was also teetering on the wrong edge of sanity.

As Angel looked around, trying to find some means of escape, a part of him wondered what had sent Lindsey over the edge. Was it the loss of his hand? The temporary loss of his truck? Maybe it was because Angel had slept with Darla. The little moron. As if Darla had wanted him for anything but what he could get for her. As if Darla ever wanted _anyone_ for anything but what they could get for her.

Still grinning widely, Lindsey stalked over. His gait was a bit off, like a sailor on a ship in untrustworthy seas, but still he managed to look suitably predatory. When he was a few feet away from Angel, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade, which he flicked open.

Angel knew well that there were a great many things one could do with a small, sharp knife. Things that wouldn’t be fatal to one’s victim, although eventually the victim would most sincerely wish that they were. He probably wasn’t going to try and hack off any of Angel’s limbs in retaliation for his own lost hand, but there were plenty of softer, more vulnerable parts he could go after.

Lindsey played with the knife a little, allowing the light to gleam off the metal. Angel grunted at him. If only Lindsey would take the gag out of his mouth, Angel could talk to him. Try to reason with him. Angel had seen flashes of decency in the guy, every now and then. That time with the blind children, for instance. But Lindsey didn’t remove the gag, and in any case, he wasn’t looking all that amenable to rational thought at the moment.

Angel jerked and tugged at the chains. The metal cut cruelly into his wrists and he scented his own blood, but he couldn’t sense the slightest give in his bonds. It seemed that Lindsey really had known what he was doing. Angel couldn’t help but thrash as Lindsey stepped slowly closer and closer, until they were separated by only a few inches. Because Angel’s legs were spread, he and the lawyer were nearly eye-to-eye. The man reeked of booze and sweat and misery, and this close Angel could see the small lines that were beginning to form on the man’s pretty face.

Lindsey lifted the knife and Angel braced himself for the plunge of the blade into his flesh. It never hurt right away, not with a knife as sharp as this. It was if the nerve endings were too shocked to register the devastation at first. But then the pain would come, he knew, cold and bright.

But Lindsey didn’t stab him. Instead, the man flicked his wrist and sliced the knife downward, cutting cleanly through Angel’s shirt. The steel moved through the cotton as effortlessly as if the fabric were tissue paper. With a few more cuts and a tug or two, the shirt lay in ruins at Angel’s feet. Angel was stupidly enraged over that. The shirt had been new. Gucci, with mother-of-pearl cufflinks. $375.

Of course, Lindsey didn’t care. He ran the flat of the blade over Angel’s bare chest, not cutting him, just tracing the line of Angel’s pectorals. Angel stopped struggling and went very still, while Lindsey exhaled clouds of 80-proof breath into his face. Lindsey was breathing heavily, actually almost panting, as if he’d just engaged in heavy exercise. His excitement made his eyes sparkle and his cheeks flush.

“I bet a vamp don’t even need to exercise to keep those muscles up, huh? I do. I work out for almost an hour every fucking day. I got a treadmill and an elliptical and Bowflex. Darla said she liked the way I was made. Strong, she said. I guess she likes her men pretty built, huh?” He dug the tip of the knife almost delicately into Angel’s right nipple. It didn’t do much more than sting, but a thin stream of blood came from the wound and ran down Angel’s torso. They both watched it as it dripped onto the cement floor.

When they looked up again and their gazes met, the smile was gone from Lindsey’s face. Another, darker, expression had taken its place, and again Angel’s stomach lurched. It wasn’t right, a vampire being afraid of a human, at a human’s mercy. It was supposed to be the other way around. Brief flashes of memory flickered before him, all the many, many times he—no, Angelus, dammit!—had been in a position like Lindsey’s. And Angel remembered the satisfying feeling it brought, the way such power over another being had thrummed across his skin and down his spine, into his balls, making him hard.

Lindsey set the knife down on a small table and stood again in front of the bound man. After a long moment, he unbuckled Angel’s belt—his movements a bit awkward due to the artificial hand—and drew it from the loops of his trousers. Angel didn’t bother to turn his head as Lindsey stepped behind him; he knew what was next. Sure enough, there was the sharp whistle of leather whipping through air, and then the fiery impact of the belt—buckle first—across his shoulders. He didn’t make a sound, though, not at the first blow, nor the second nor the third. In fact, it was Lindsey who made the first noises, little grunts of effort, and it was only when the lawyer’s breaths were coming in wheezing puffs that the wallops became too much and Angel moaned.

As if that was what he’d been waiting for, Lindsey dropped the belt. It landed on the concrete with a muted clatter. Angel could hear the tiny pit-pat as more droplets of his blood fell.

Lindsey stepped in front of him, the knife again in his hand. “Stings, don’t it?” Lindsey said with a slight tilt to his head. “My Daddy used to whup me like that. ‘Course, I was only human and the marks didn’t heal overnight. Man, I remember how hard it was to get through PE class with my back all bruised and stiffened up, and me trying to pretend like it wasn’t. Daddy said he was gonna beat the contrariness right out of me. Guess it didn’t work, huh?”

Angel sighed in reply. Great. The little shit had daddy issues to work out, too. If it weren’t for the gag, Angel could have told him that Liam's dad used to take a belt to him too sometimes, or more often a cane. He hadn’t been any more successful at making a good man out of Liam than Lindsey’s father had been with the same task. Not that Angel would have shared that bit of history with the lawyer, even if he’d been able. It wasn’t as if he were trying to bond with the creep.

“’Course,” Lindsey said, his voice going low and hoarse, “when Daddy used the belt, it wasn’t only my back he whipped.” Again he flicked the knife—Angel carefully not looking as he did—and the front of Angel’s trousers came open. Lanvin. $495. The fabric was heavier than his shirt's, but Lindsey had no trouble slicing through it, leaving the remains of Angel’s pants puddled at his feet. His bare feet, he only now noticed. Lindsey must have removed his shoes and socks when he chained him up. And as soon as he did notice, the cold of the floor seemed to seep into him, slowly turning him to marble.

“See, I always did figure you for a boxer man. Boxer vamp. Those are nice ones, too.” He stepped around and folded back the waistband to reveal the label. “Burberry. You know, when I was a kid I hardly ever got clothes of my own. They were all hand-me-downs from my big brothers. Even the underwear, if you can believe it. Nasty. Sometimes I didn’t go to school for weeks on end ‘cause I didn’t have anything decent enough to wear. The Child Welfare folks, they didn’t bother to check up on me. They knew the McDonalds and all the other trash that lived near us. Knew we’d all end up in prison or somethin’ anyway, and there wasn’t no use in trying to insist we got educated. But I’d sneak the books home with me and study ‘em on my own. Schoolin’ was gonna be my escape, I knew that from the start.” As he said the last word, he seized the back of Angel’s shorts in his hand and pulled. The fabric tore, and then Angel was hanging there completely naked.

Lindsey strode to Angel’s front again and gave him a long look, raking his eyes up and down. “Guess they didn’t believe in circumcision back in your day, huh? D’ya think if I cut you now it’d grow back?” He cocked his head and looked at Angel, as if he were really waiting for an answer. When Angel did nothing, Lindsey closed the space between them and stuck the point of the knife against Angel’s scrotum.

Angel stopped breathing.

“What if I gelded you?” Lindsey whispered into Angel’s ear. His crotch was up tight against Angel’s thigh and Angel could feel the hard bulge there. “I used to earn a few bucks castrating calves, back in high school. I wonder if I still have the knack. Bet your balls wouldn’t grow back. What would Darla think of you then? I don’t think the lady is the type to dig eunuchs.” The point of the blade dug into the sensitive skin just a little and a choked whimper escaped Angel’s throat.

Lindsey laughed. Then, to Angel’s enormous relief, he withdrew the knife. In fact, he let it drop, and it landed silently atop the shredded clothing. But Lindsey was still pressed against him, hips flexing slightly so that he was rocking against the front of Angel’s hip. Angel huffed through his nose as the man grabbed Angel’s cock in his hand—a hand that still bore calluses—and squeezed roughly.

“That Darla, she was somethin’ else in bed, wasn’t she? ‘Course, you never knew what it felt like to have your prick inside her when she was _hot,_ did you? But even cold and dead, she felt good. From what I understand, you don’t stick your dick in much of anything, most of the time. Maybe that’s because you wish someone was stickin’ it to you instead. Whatta ya think, _Angel_?” He drawled the name teasingly. “You achin’ to be somebody’s bitch?”

Angel couldn’t help it—he shook his head and made a negative sort of noise. But Lindsey only chuckled darkly and rubbed himself more forcefully against Angel. The fabric of his jeans chafed Angel’s skin.

But Angel would have almost welcomed that irritation, because a moment later Lindsey stepped behind him and there was the unmistakable sound of a zipper being tugged down.

Angel began to thrash in his chains again, howling into the gag. He even allowed his face to shift, but he still couldn’t work himself loose and his fangs dug into the metal ball. Lindsey slapped his ass a few times, hard, the flat of his palm stinging. Then he grabbed Angel’s hips and held him still. The fake hand felt smooth and plasticky. With his legs spread and his arms stretched high, Angel didn’t have the leverage to move away. Lindsey dragged his hard cock up and down in the crack of Angel’s ass a few times, leaving a slightly wet trail, then pressed the blunt head of his cock against Angel’s entrance.

Angel tried to relax. He knew that the more he tensed, the more this would hurt. But he _couldn’t_ relax, not when he was on the verge of being violated like that. So when Lindsey shoved himself inside with a savage thrust, it hurt like hell and Angel gave another muffled howl.

Now, in general Angel—and Angelus—preferred the ladies by far. But there had been those occasions when he’d become excited over the terror he was causing, when a man’s delicate features or desperate noises caught his fancy, or when he’d simply wished to prove his dominance in the most primitive way possible. So he’d fucked men now and then, brutal rapes that left them torn and sobbing. Sometimes he even allowed them to live afterwards, knowing the shame of being fucked would last them forever. He’d fucked William quite a few times, back when the boy was a fledge, green and still hanging on to the shreds of his Victorian ideals. He’d fucked him again more recently in Sunnydale, when Spike was broken and helpless, and it had been so delicious to take him under Dru’s gleeful eyes, to hear Spike scream in humiliation and impotent fury. No! That had been Angelus, _not_ him. But still, he remembered how it was, pounding into a tight, tight channel, feeling the walls of that channel grip him and then grow slick with blood, hammering into a body that was hard and angular and most definitely male.

That’s what Lindsey was feeling now as he raped Angel.

As Lindsey’s movements grew faster, the lawyer reached around and grasped Angel’s cock. He stripped it so thoroughly, so efficiently, that it occurred to Angel that this was probably not the first time Lindsey had fucked a male. But Angel had spent decades in almost complete self-denial so, to his complete mortification, the touch of a warm hand on his cock—and the occasional, probably incidental rubbing of Lindsey’s cock against his prostate—stimulated him and he began to harden. Lindsey laughed, throaty and breathless. “See? Knew you wanted it, slut.”

The sounds of skin against skin and squelching fluids were loud, echoing across the big room. It embarrassed Angel, somehow, that his body could make those noises. He felt betrayed by his own flesh.

Lindsey cried out brokenly and slammed into him a few more times. Then, just for a moment or two, he slumped across Angel’s tattered back. He was warm, a blanket against the room’s chill.

With another squishy sound he withdrew. He bent and retrieved a piece of Angel’s shirt and used it to wipe himself clean. Then he zipped himself up.

Somehow, the sex had sobered him. His eyes looked completely clear now, completely sane. They were cold eyes. Blue like a glacier. He glanced down at Angel’s cock, which was still jutting out obscenely, and laughed.

“You know, I’m not a completely cruel man. If I was, I’d just leave you hanging here until someone found you. Could take a while. The firm owns this dump and it ain’t been used in years. I guess after a while you’d just sorta shrivel up, huh?” He shrugged. “But like I said, the bosses want you around. So I’m gonna do you a favor and give those gumshoe wannabe pals of yours a call, let them know where they can find you. You can have fun telling ‘em what happened to you tonight.”

Angel closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the looks on their faces when they found him like this, with blood and come drying on the insides of his thighs. Please, God, he prayed silently, uselessly, don’t let Cordelia be with them.

Lindsey bent and retrieved his knife. He snicked it shut and stuck it back in his pocket, and then he walked to the door at the far end of the room. The rubber soles of his shoes were barely audible against the floor. Before he left, he turned and looked at Angel one more time. He smiled. “It wasn’t as fun as killing you, but I gotta admit, it came in a close second. But you know the old Stones song, right? Can’t always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.”

The door slammed loudly behind him.

 

 _  
~~~fin~~~  
_

 

 

  



End file.
